


It Happens

by epkitty



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003), Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, M/M, Nudity, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-02
Updated: 2011-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-16 01:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epkitty/pseuds/epkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haldir's arrival and presence at Imladris acts as a catalyst</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hello Hello

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dayast joy](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=dayast+joy), [sally](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sally).



> The first song Lindir sings is one of my own. The second that he sings, however, is adapted from ‘This Piece of Earth’ as performed by West of Eden.

“Halt! Who goes there?”

The tall Elf in Lorien grey and black swiftly dismounted, bowing to the unseen sentries hidden amongst the drab winter foliage. “I am Haldir of the Golden Wood.”

“Haldir!” came the reply, a dark-haired Elf dropping from the trees. “Welcome to Imladris; you are expected! I am Calanna.” The young, dark-haired sentry bowed and she signaled to others that Haldir could not see. “It is my honor to escort you to the House.”

“I thank you, Calanna.”

A nimble horse – bright white with greying mane and tail – pranced from the brush and Calanna leapt upon her. Haldir remounted and the two Elves swiftly took to the path hidden to all but Elven eyes.

***

“Ah, here he is at last. I thought you never would make it, Haldir.”

“Glorfindel!” Haldir crowed, practically falling from the mottled stallion in his haste, his feet hitting the well-cobbled courtyard of Imladris.

The two blonde-haired warriors embraced tightly, Glorfindel landing a kiss on his comrade’s cheek. “It is good to see you, my friend,” he confided in a whisper.

Haldir stepped back, a look of chagrin on a typically proud face. “You were right; Imladris is fair beyond imagining…”

“But you cannot in good conscience leave your post; I know this. I was most astonished at your message; how then came you to be here?”

The Lorien Elf looked away and absently rubbed the back of his neck in a most uncharacteristic gesture. “Well, my Lady suggested a holiday…”

Glorfindel grabbed his shoulders and eyed him speculatively. “Haldir, what did you do?”

“Nothing!” he said quickly.

Glorfindel glared, hands on hips as stood there in the wintering courtyard bedecked in the reds and browns and golds of Imladris.

“Well, it was hardly my fault,” Haldir started. “T’was my brothers began it.”

“Began what?”

Haldir mumbled something unintelligibly.

“What was that?”

“Ah, something to do with the Old Running tradition,” Haldir murmured.

For a moment, Glorfindel merely stared. Then he stepped back, clutching his stomach and howling with laughter. “Haldir! I didn’t know you had it in you!”

“I was drunk,” he whined defensively, crossing his arms with a terribly injured expression.

Glorfindel could only laugh.

***

“And these are the libraries,” Glorfindel spoke quietly as they entered the huge, airy room where shafts of golden sunlight illuminated the swirling dust motes and row upon row of shelves upon shelves of books. Rough, ragged books bound in strips of leather sat agreeably beside finely crafted journals of fine spun silk. Fragile scrolls in satin ribbons were corralled in many glass shelves behind mithril locks. Rarely used references glared down from their high spaces in the walls, accessible only by the spindly ladders that rolled gracefully along. A maze of bookcases wound through the cathedral-like room in a seeming mishmash of corners and angles where a few Elves wandered with or without purpose among them, some glancing around the titles and others toting piles of texts in their robed arms. The windows along the south wall were shaped like huge leaves sheltering the room and were open to the little wintery breeze that drifted in. The ceiling overhanging all this was a work of art unto itself, dark wood arches curving high overhead in miraculous carvings like branched trees arcing over a clearing.

A comfortable silence embraced the place like a warm blanket in winter, disturbed only by the turning of a page or soft thump of a book, a muffled whisper or a song from a trespassing bird that hung about the rafters.

“Impressive,” Haldir admitted in a slightly awed tone. “If I had any great love of books, I do believe I could spend all my waking hours here and never tire.”

Glorfindel nodded. “If that were the case, you would get on more than admirably with this old rascal,” he said, snagging the thin black braid of a passing Elf. “Erestor, this is my old friend, Haldir.”

The dark Elf closed the bedraggled book he’d had his elegant nose buried in and blinked for a moment before dragging himself into the world of reality. Erestor glared a moment, yanking his hair from Glorfindel’s sneaky grasp before turning to the newcomer. “Ah, Haldir,” he murmured with a deep bow. “It is an honor and my great pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Haldir nodded in return. “Chief Counselor.”

Glorfindel lightly slapped the back of Erestor’s head when he rose from his obeisance, dark robes gathering around him like a shroud. “Erestor. You are far too formal. Haldir is my good friend and so he shall be to you.”

Erestor growled lowly at Glorfindel and then eyed the flaxen haired stranger doubtfully.

Haldir’s hazel gaze was true and free of guile. “It would give me great delight to call you such, Erestor.”

Dark eyes, almost black, were still suspicious. “Hm,” he huffed skeptically before stalking away into the stacks, black robes slithering along behind him.

The two Elves watched his departure with raised eyebrows. “That is Erestor,” Glorfindel said simply.

“He is just as you described him.”

***

Glorfindel pushed aside a beautifully woven tapestry depicting a many-leafed forest to reveal a hidden doorway in the high wainscoted wall. He grinned. “This is the fastest way to the kitchens from your guest room.”

They made swift passage through the narrow, windowless corridor full of darkness to come out in a wide, open hallway full of Elves bustling about. A series of windows facing south let in the gay yellow light of the sun to shine on the scrubbed wooden floor and pleasantly cheery yellow walls of the place, always decorated by bits of art or shelving or this and that. The Elves themselves carried baskets of laundry and trays of food, buckets of water and baskets of fresh fruit. Some were messengers, very young, who ran past with barely any heed to those they disrupted with their hasty flight.

No one batted an eye at the passing of two beautiful Elves as Glorfindel led the way along the long hall to the very end where the low-ceilinged kitchens were alive with the scents of bread and meat and with the hurried labor of many busy Elves. “Mmm, dinner smells especially delicious tonight,” Glorfindel told a passing maiden whose sleeves were rolled up past the elbow and whose apron and dark hair were spattered with flour.

She grinned and nodded at him. “Well, thank you very much Glorfindel; it would be all the better if you weren’t pestering us every hour of every day,” she said cheekily with a wink and took up a great wooden spoon to attack the huge cauldron before her.

“Isn’t that the truth,” said a passing Elf who was loaded down with carrots.

“Lindir,” Glorfindel exclaimed. “You work in the kitchens today?”

“Nay, but I knew they needed an extra hand,” the pale-haired bard shrugged as best he could with an armful of vegetables.

“Ah,” Haldir interrupted, “You are Lindir of Imladris? The Chief Minstrel?”

“Yes, yes I am,” he replied.

Haldir bowed respectfully. “I am Haldir of Lorien. I have heard much of you and your talents and look forward to hearing you play and sing in the great Hall of Fire.”

Lindir seemed somewhat taken aback. “Uh, thank you. I have heard much of you as well, from this scoundrel.” He nodded at Glorfindel with a friendly smirk. “It is a pleasure. And if you both are seeking the illusive Lord, he’s back there,” he indicated the rear of the kitchens with a nod and continued on his way.

“Ah, so that’s where he’s been hiding,” Glorfindel grinned maliciously and pulled Haldir through the crowd in the kitchen to a small table in a back corner where a beautiful dark-haired Elf held his head in one hand and a well-crafted clay mug of something steaming in the other. He was clad in a neutral grey robe, as if he could blend into the background, and his hair was loose.

“Lord Elrond!” Glorfindel chortled as loud as he could manage, slapping the Lord on the back. “What are you hiding from back here, you old dog?”

Bleary grey eyes glared up at him.

“Ah,” Glorfindel delightfully exclaimed, “but you cannot hide from a hangover.” If possible, his grin widened as he confided to his newly arrived friend in nothing resembling a whisper, “It’s the Man-blood in him you know; he can drink any of us under the table, but he pays for it the next day.” He turned again to Elrond to shout, “Isn’t that right, my Lord?!”

“Glorfindel,” came the anticipated growl. The golden Elf waited expectantly. “Your words are crude and my temper short this horrible, horrible morning.” Glorfindel watched with excitement and rocked on the balls of his feet as Elrond slowly rose to tower over both of them. “If you can do no better than taunt and insult me before my staff, my family, and my guests, than I suggest to take yourself out to the stables where you belong and converse with the beasts that best understand you.”

“The pigs?” Glorfindel asked curiously.

“The hens,” Elrond corrected in a rumble. “You are no better than a clucking chicken, Glorfindel, pecking about the kitchens for any scrap of food and fluttering about the court squawking your gossip and everyday prattle like so much useless fluff and fowl.”

The Lord finished his speech with a raised eyebrow and turned to Haldir. Immediately, his eyes cleared and his expression was honest and welcoming. “I am in no fit state to greet guests,” he sorrowfully admitted. “But all the same it is an honor to have you here, Haldir of Lorien.”

“I am the one honored, my Lord,” Haldir said with a bow. “All your lands are beautiful, all your House enchanting, and all your people welcoming.”

“Kind words,” Elrond acknowledged. “It is good to see you again, Haldir,” he said, dropping formality and taking him in a light embrace, willingly returned. “And after I recover,” the Lord said with a rueful smile, stepping back, “we shall feast.”

***

The wine flowed freely that evening as the Elves merrily gathered in the great dining hall after sunset. The long fireplace – the mantle overhung with evergreen sprigs and scraps of bright cloth – roared in the wintertime and the rest of the room was fairly filled with brass candelabras, wooden chandeliers, and glass candleholders. The tables were covered with clothes of deep green linen or spotless white satin. The silver twinkled like burnished starlight in the candles’ illumination and the goblets flashed brilliantly as they were waved about in long-fingered hands.

Haldir was pleased to greet Arwen again, as he had met her many times on her forays to the Golden Wood. The twins were not at home, as was not unusual, but still the House was filled with an exuberant joy and free laughter.

Haldir sat to the left of Glorfindel, who sat to the left of Lord Elrond. Arwen was placed beside her father, and Erestor beside her. Lindir and Erestor were engaged in some serious, low-voiced discussion as Glorfindel gleefully informed his Lord and the Lady Arwen of Haldir’s sudden appearance.

“The Old Running?!” Elrond exclaimed with some surprise. “Haldir, I didn’t know you had it in you!”

Haldir tried to hide behind the fall of gold hair, but his blush was still quite evident.

Arwen perked up with interest. “What is this old tradition? I am not familiar with it.”

Glorfindel’s wicked grin turned on her as Haldir seemed to slip downward in his seat. “Ah, the Old Running! This dates back to the old Yule feasts when Kings dared their nobles to brave the winter weather in only what the Valar blessed them with at birth. Can you imagine, all these Lords and Ladies running through the streets, their hair streaming gold and silver and black and brown behind them through the snow!”

“Haldir!” Arwen accused. “What on Middle Earth did you do?!”

“It was Yule. I was drunk.”

“And naked,” Glorfindel added.

Haldir’s head fell into his hand with a groan. “Rumil started it.”

***

The Hall of Fire was filled with wine and merriment after the late dinner. The moon outside was full and the fire inside was blazing high as the somewhat rowdy crowd begged another song of Lindir.

Haldir, still in his Lorien colors, and Glorfindel, in Imladris red and gold robes, joined the chorus of, “One more, Lindir! One more song!”

The minstrel, more sober than the lot of them, waved them to quiet and again took up his harp, smiling joyfully as he did so. Various requests were thrown out to him and he argued amiably back and forth with the masses, long bell-sleeves flapping as he did so, the green of his robes highlighting his leaf-colored eyes.

Haldir watched with interest as Lindir turned suddenly to a shadowy corner where a dark figure in somber robes stood, a glass of something blood-colored in a graceful hand.

The hall grew silent as Lindir addressed him. “And what would you hear, Counselor Erestor?”

The Elf shuffled, almost seeming to slip further back into the shadows behind the pillar at finding himself the center of attention. His voice was low and quiet, but his words still easily heard in the Hall of Fire. “How many times must I tell you, Lindir, that ‘Erestor’ will suffice?” His sigh was almost audible.

The bard laughed, a merry sound. “As many as it takes to sink into my failing memory, Counselor!” he said with a laugh.

Erestor could be seen to shake his head at the minstrel’s antics as others laughed at the familiar exchange.

Lindir continued to play the crowd until he finally set fingers to strings, and the Hall quieted at once as his enthralling voice filled the smoky air.

“This one again,” Glorfindel shook his head.

“Beren and Luthien?” Haldir asked. “Tis a lovely ballad; why do you grumble so?”

Glorfindel sighed. “He sings it overmuch.” But then he smiled, “Though I do not tire of his voice.”

Haldir raised an intrigued brow at his friend’s statement and then closed his bright eyes to listen to the ancient tune, artfully sung.


	2. The Way It Is

(A few days later, if that concerns you.)

 

The kitchens were nearly empty, but for a bubbling cauldron of stew watched over by a young Elf and his mother, who was restocking the assorted spices near the open doorway. Three counters down, Lindir stood surrounded by several bowls of dough, which he was shaping and kneading or letting rise beneath thin cloths. He had flour up to his elbows where the long sleeves of his white shirt had been rolled up, revealing wiry arms, now white with the powder. He continued the rocking motion of beating the dough and rolling it out and kneading it over and over.

“Have you never thought of traveling, Lindir? You could go to any Elvish land and be welcomed with open arms because your renown would be unmatched,” Glorfindel told him, smiling.   
“You flatter me,” Lindir answered, unimpressed.

“Flatter? That was not my intent.” Lindir ignored him as Glorfindel stared intently up at the bard from his padded stool. “I could talk myself hoarse praising you and not tell a lie. I could ask any Elf in Imladris and they would tell me none come close to your talent with harp or flute or drum. Or voice, especially voice. You ought to share your gifts with the world!”

Lindir smirked. “You sound like a mother hen shooing her chick out of the nest.”

Glorfindel laughed. “Don’t you want adventure?!”

“What need do I have for adventure?” Lindir argued with a smile. “Every race on Arda comes to this valley! I have met men and hobbits and dwarves and even the great eagles. I have heard tales of Mirkwood and Lorien, Lindon and Valinor. People come from the four corners of the earth to show their wares and talents. My pupils are as varied as the seasons and I would not leave the halls of my Lord for all the Silmarils in the world.”

“So you let the world come to you. I see. You are a coward.”

At this, Lindir finally turned to face him, a smirk still in place, those forest green eyes alight with the twinkle of the stars. His voice was low. “You call me coward?”

“Well, yes. Despite what you say, I think you fear the world. I have never even seen you leave the Valley. But you should!” Glorfindel stood from his stool, his hands waving wildly as his bright blue eyes sparkled happily. “There is a whole world out there! Sights you’ve only read and sung of! There are Kings in courts of silver and Queens in dresses entirely of pearls! There are dragons guarding hordes of gold and knights in shining armor who joust in the golden light of the sun to win the hand of their fair maiden! There are caves that descend for miles into the earth and mountains that disappear up into the clouds! There are forests older than this valley with trees that still speak our tongue and there are oceans whose blue waters have lapped at Arda’s shores since its inception! Lindir, there might be a princess waiting for you in a high bower, waiting to be called down by the sweetness of your voice and the beauty of your music.”

Lindir smiled and only said in a sly, quiet voice, “I would prefer a prince.”

***

Elrond wearily rubbed at his brow, removing the mithril circlet to do so. “Ah, you would think this might get easier from year to year.”

“Mmm.”

“But all it gets is painful.”

“Mmm.”

Elrond set aside his carefully penned page, but didn’t put down the quill for a moment as he pulled a fresh stack of lists toward him. “The guest rooms are really filling up this spring. Even some from Mirkwood have decided to come visit.”

“Mmm.”

“I don’t doubt the twins will appear out of nowhere again. They don’t really want the feast, but it is expected.”

“Mmm.”

He rubbed at his face again, unwittingly smearing black ink along his cheek. “Oh, I don’t even want to think about it,” he said, comparing two calendars. “If these are accurate and the weather forgiving, the dwarves will arrive on precisely the same day as Mirkwood’s visitors.” He dropped his head forward, releasing a little whine. “Oh Erestor, this is hell.”

“Mmm.”

Elrond sighed and finally set everything down to cradle his face in his hands a moment before looking up at the Elf sitting across from him, deeply engrossed with some sort of inventory. “Erestor, are you even listening to me?”

“Of course, my Lord. As per usual, you are overwhelmed by the spring rush, Elf/dwarf relations, the arrival of your sons, the condition of the larder, and my attention span.” Erestor looked up then from his work. “I assure you, my Lord, all will be well.”

Elrond smiled, lightening his beautiful features in an expression of relief. “Thank you, my friend. What would I do without you?”

Erestor again bowed his head to his work and, as always, gruffly answered, “You would manage, my Lord.”

***

“That is all then. This meeting is adjourned.”

Weary counselors, advisors, and secretaries quickly rose, gathering notes and books in bell-sleeve clad arms to sweep out of the meeting room with robes of all colors trailing behind them.

“My Lord?”

Elrond sat still in his place at the head of the table, regarding the intricately carved ceiling with a glazed expression.

“Lord Elrond? The meeting is over.”

“Hm? Ah, thank you, Erestor. Yes.”

“You have had a long day. Please, allow me to escort you to the kitchens for a snack, or to your rooms; I will bring you something to eat.”

Elrond nodded absently and Erestor abandoned his many files to circle the table and pull out his Lord’s carved chair as Elrond rose. Elrond was prepared to gather his own papers when Erestor gently grasped his arms to lead him away. “Leave your things, my Lord. All shall be cared for.”

Elrond’s eyelids drooped as he let his Chief Counselor lead him away.

***

Strolling in quiet conversation down the corridor, Glorfindel and Haldir were surprised to see the dark-haired pair moving toward them. They quietly approached the Lord and his guide. “Erestor?” Glorfindel quietly interrogated. “Is there a problem? Can I help?”

“Nothing but an overworked Peredhel. I would be most obliged if you could have some hot soup and cold water sent to the Lord’s rooms.”

“Certainly,” Glorfindel agreed. “Haldir, do you—?”

“I shall accompany you,” the Guardian assured his friend and they raced to the kitchens, ignored by Elrond, who leaned heavily on the only support available to him.

“This way,” Erestor whispered, propelling the half-Elf forward again.

They moved slowly down the hall until they reached the Lord’s quarters. Erestor propped him against the wall to remove a small silver key and fit it in the matching lock. He pushed tall white doors open and tenderly manhandled the taller Elf to a table beside a window overlooking a hibernating garden behind the House. As Erestor went back to shut the doors and then to the bedroom to turn down the bed, Elrond stared blankly out the window, overwhelmed by fatigue and hunger. After a moment, he fumbled half-heartedly with the opening to his deep blue robes. Seeing this, Erestor hurried over. “Allow me, my Lord.” He swiftly undid the tiny mithril buttons and slid the heavy outer robe off wide shoulders to flop over the back of the chair. He carefully removed Elrond’s arms from the bulky sleeves and set about removing his Lord’s circlet and the chain of office about his neck, the rings on his fingers and the slippers from his feet.

“Erestor…”

“Do not speak, my Lord. You are tired. Let me care for you.”

If Elrond heard these words he made no acknowledgement of them, but only remained silent.

Erestor left him to his trance-like state, moving to crouch at the hearth and bank up the embers, carefully building a fire.

Before long a quiet knock sounded and Erestor swiftly stalked over to let Glorfindel and Haldir in. Glorfindel set down a tray with two bowls of soup and a plate of fruit as Haldir placed a pitcher of water and two glasses before the Lord. Seeing that Erestor had all things in order, they turned to leave.

Erestor muttered a thank you to the retreating Elves, but spared them neither a glance nor a nod, instead sitting beside his Lord, placing before him the soup and in his hand a spoon. He waited patiently as Elrond mechanically ate whatever was set before him and drained his water glass three times.

Erestor jumped as Elrond set down the glass harder than he intended with a hollow thunk. “I think it is time to sleep, Lord.”

“Work, Erestor… I have work to do…”

“I think not,” Erestor argued, and Elrond did not fight as Erestor helped lift him from his seat and maneuver him to the bedroom.

Stumbling as he went, Elrond was asleep on his feet and Erestor did not hesitate to scoop the tall Lord up in two strong arms and carry him through the door to the bed and lay him with tender care upon the turned down sheets. He gently removed trousers and tunic to pull the sheets up over the sleeping half-Elf.

Erestor sat on the side of the bed, undoing the braids and loops and combing his fingers through the dark silk hair. He sadly regarded the frown on his Lord’s features and quietly began to sing. It was an old song, a children’s lullaby full of nonsense words. He rubbed at Elrond’s temples and sang the slow old song until all signs of weariness vanished from the sleeping features.

***

When Erestor finally emerged from the Lord’s chambers, closing the door and locking it silently behind him, he was surprised to find two gold-haired Elves waiting for him. “Lord Glorfindel. What can I do for you?”

Glorfindel amiably flung an arm about Erestor’s shoulders. Being nearly a head taller than the Counselor, it was quite comfortable, though he had learned long ago not to mention the grumpy Elf’s height. “You can tell me, Counselor Erestor, just what you are doing.”

“Doing?” he echoed, confused for a moment as Glorfindel began steering him down the hallway, trailed by an interested Haldir. “I must collect the notes from the meeting chamber,” he begged, pointing in the opposite direction and trying to wiggle out from Glorfindel’s grasp. “I know I must check on the kitchens because there’s been some concern about the sowing of the wheat this spring, and then there are several duty rosters I have to post in the stables – there’s a changeover coming up you know – and I must consult with Lindir about the upcoming festival, especially with a host from Mirkwood arriving – they must not be neglected – not to mention the anniversary of Elrond’s unofficial crowning; he hates it but it is expected, and—”

“And you imagine to do all this tonight?” Glorfindel happily interrupted. “When you yourself haven’t slept in the Valar-know-how-long? You look after our Lord, I know, but who looks after you? Even you, Erestor, cannot go without food and sleep. Don’t give me that look, and don’t even try to tell me you’ve eaten anything today; I’ve been watching you, you know. So, we’re going to make sure you eat and sleep. We’ll lock you in your rooms and barricade the door if we have to; isn’t that right, Haldir?”

“Quite so.”

“Yes. So, you see, my friend, you really don’t have a choice.”

“Glorfindel, let me go.”

“No!” Glorfindel laughingly denied.

Erestor let out a long-suffering sigh before deftly turning out and under from Glorfindel’s arm. “I will not let you disrupt my duties or the workings of this realm, Lord. Your concern is… touching, but unneeded. Good night.” He turned and walked away.

Haldir and Glorfindel sadly watched the Elf, slumped over with weariness and loneliness, stride down the darkening hall.

“Some intervention,” Haldir murmured.

“Mm,” Glorfindel agreed distractedly. “I expected nothing less. Erestor will never put himself before anything or anyone else, especially his realm. Especially his Lord.” Glorfindel shook his head and he, too, walked away.

Haldir watched all this with concerned interest. And followed after his friend.

***

They sat together in the kitchens. It was late, and the yellow candlelight wavered in a happy dance in the friendly atmosphere of smooth-sanded low wooden beams of yellowish hue with creamy ceiling between them painted with gold, green, and brown vines and leaves.

Haldir had finished his bit of bread and honey, and watched with growing concern as Glorfindel picked irritably at his food, barely eating. “You are troubled.”

“That’s an understatement.”

Haldir sighed. “There is little you can do to help him if he refuses to be helped.”

“I know you are right, but his solitude worries me.”

“Solitude?” Haldir questioned. “He is ever at Elrond’s side, in the thick of things with meetings and consultations and all manner of duties.”

“And where is he now?” Glorfindel asked. “Hidden away in his rooms with nothing but an ill-tempered old cat for company or in the dusty libraries with no company at all.”

“Actually,” Haldir corrected, “he’s standing right behind you.”

Glorfindel turned to glare up at the dark-haired Elf. “Would you stop that?! You ought to make noise when you walk!”

Erestor lifted an eyebrow. “And stomp about the place with no regard whatever for those about me, as you do? Or perhaps I ought to wear a little bell to announce my comings and goings.”

“That would be an improvement,” Glorfindel agreed, gesturing to the empty seat between Haldir and himself.

Regarding the seat with some trepidation, Erestor eventually pulled out the chair to sit down primly at the sturdy old table, scarred by age. Haldir pushed the plate of bread toward him as Glorfindel poured him a glass of wine.

Erestor dined silently, ignoring that fact that the other two were watching him like hawks. When he’d consumed a large amount of food in surprisingly short time, he turned to Glorfindel. “I do not hide in my rooms. I work there so that I am not constantly interrupted by the likes of you, Lord Glorfindel. And the libraries are more conducive to study at night, when they are not filled with curious visitors and young students who do not want to be there.”

“Excuses…” Glorfindel uttered in a singsong voice. “So you spend your days working and your nights working and when, precisely, do you sleep?”

“When I can.”

“Mmm.”


	3. Really?

(A week later, if it matters to you.)

 

“I still say there’s an adventure out there for you.”

Lindir rolled his eyes and picked up a flute, running the oiled rag carefully along the keys. “I don’t need an adventure,” he said. “I’ve everything I need here.”

With a sharp pluck, Glorfindel tested the strings on the lute he’d been tightening. “Oh I don’t know. We don’t frequently receive princes here…”  
 Lindir laughed, his joyful voice echoing through the otherwise empty Hall of Fire.

“Especially this time of year,” the golden lord continued, laying aside the lute to pick up a horn in need of polishing. “I dare say winters are very uninteresting.”

“I would disagree,” Lindir argued, carefully turning the flute about in slender fingers. “There is little so enjoyable as sitting by a fire as the wind whips the shutters outside, sipping at a bowl of hot soup and listening to the songs and stories of those who…”

“Who have traveled and seen the world?” Glorfindel asked.

Lindir grimaced a bit, disgruntled. “I am a collector of songs and a composer of them. I am no adventurer, Glorfindel. I seek no treasure or honor. I am happy here, on this little piece of earth.”

“Yes. So I see.”

***

Spring was nearly upon them, but Imladris still had its cold days, and this day every puff of breath was visible in the frigid air. The warriors circled about the yard in a familiar rhythm as shouts and laughter rang loud and happy. Glorfindel was among them and he waved his sword in a high arc, deadly in his efficiency. His foe was forced in a roundabout circle until he called a halt. “You win, Glorf! No more!”

Lindir smiled from his distant vantage point, a high balcony overlooking the armory, stables, and the yard below where sentries and warriors of old kept their skills sharp. The pale-haired Elf himself was curled up on a high bench, wrapped in a pale blue blanket with a goblet of steaming mead cupped in his hands. He sipped casually from the cup on occasion, more concerned with watching the events below. Glorfindel had swiftly pulled the legs out from under one of his young sparring partners and Lindir echoed the laughter of the soldiers in the yard.

A deep chortle sounded behind him and Lindir turned to see Haldir approach, his plain grey cloak flaring out behind him as he walked. “Good morning, minstrel,” he greeted, coming to stand at the railing and lay his strong hands upon the carved stone rail.

“Good morning, Guardian,” Lindir said with a grin.

Haldir smiled at the dawn and breathed a puff of air that swirled before him a moment before disappearing. “It is a good day,” he said. “A good day to spar.”

Nodding agreement, Lindir asked, “Will you not join them, then?”

“Ah, but it is also a good day to sing,” Haldir said with a broad smile. “Aye?”

“Oh, aye,” Lindir said at once, his intense green eyes alight with interest. “You sing, then Haldir? You had not said as much.”

“Oh, everyone sings,” Haldir protested with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Just because I enjoy it does not mean I am any good.”

“I might say the same of my archery,” Lindir admitted. “But I have always found that practice does no harm.” He took a quick sip of his drink, smiling as the warmth curled down to his belly. “Will you sing with me then?”

“Surely.”

“Will you pick the tune?”

“I’m afraid I know few ballads,” Haldir said, his head lowered in something like regret. Swords clanged in the yard below. “Campaigning songs, tavern reels…” he mourned, eyes distant as he spoke.

Lindir could make no response to the suddenly melancholy Elf who had been so chipper and laid-back the past week. The bard gnawed the inside of his cheek and idly turned the glass about in his hands, watching the Elf at the balcony rail. Shouts reverberated up from the Elves who were training.

“But I do love a good song,” the golden Elf murmured, his eyes seeing little as he gazed into the Imladris morning. “A tune to sooth in sad times or happy ones. Music to heal. Music can keep us whole…”

“Haldir?”

The golden mane waved as Haldir shook his head, freeing himself from whatever distraction had captured him. “I am sorry. I apologize, Lindir.”

The musician shook his head.

“Would you sing for me, Lindir? I find I am suddenly not in the mood for it.”

Lindir nodded. “What would you hear?”

Haldir looked to him, hazel eyes revealing a well of sadness. “A love song.”

“Aye.” Lindir quickly agreed and set his goblet aside. He gathered his blanket close around him and lifted his eyes to the opalescent sky. “A love song…”

And so the bard sang, the lilting tune a small hum that grew to gentle voicing of sweet words.

“Yesterday my love went away  
Away he went, far away  
I wish he would come back and stay  
But I know he can’t  
He’s gone away

“Today it is the month of May  
And my true love is still away  
Please come back, this I pray  
But I know he can’t   
He’s gone away

“Tomorrow I myself may go  
And follow where my heart doth flow  
Whichever way the winds do blow  
To find my love  
I’ll steadfastly go.”

Haldir looked into the yard. Glorfindel, standing against the wall where he supervised the youngsters was looking up, seeking the source of that voice. Lindir had ceased and was looking at Haldir, whose wide eyes overflowed with his sorrow. Glorfindel met those weeping eyes, and Haldir himself began to sing.

“Out of reach my love has gone  
Somewhere between the dusk and dawn  
Still my heart remains his pawn  
I wish mine could go  
Where his has gone.”

Haldir abruptly turned from the balcony and walked away. He stopped, but did not look as his trembling voice reached out to Lindir. “Where may I seek you after the noontime meal?”

Lindir stared wide-eyed at his dejected form. “In the Hall of Fire.”

Haldir nodded and left the balcony.

In the yard, Glorfindel curiously regarded the figures on high, their mournful song still ringing in his ears.

***

Glorfindel and Erestor shared the small table in the back of the kitchen where those going about their business ignored the somber Elves. Both wore Imladris brown, but Glorfindel was still in the simple tunic he wore for training, whereas Erestor continued his everyday tradition of sober robes with little decoration but for the simplest silver fillet across his brow. They had eaten in silence and now sat in weary stillness, despite the busy environment surrounding them.

Erestor frowned and grumbled, “Something’s wrong.”

Glorfindel ignored him.

“Fine, you go ahead and ignore me,” Erestor said agreeably. “That will make this all the easier for me, especially as you know how I loathe conversation.” He stopped a moment to make sure Glorfindel would remain silent. The counselor was still being ignored. Good. “Good. Well then, it seems to me I ought not make a habit of this, but I’m going to give you some advice. You see, you are as close as it comes to being a friend to me. You’ve gone out of your way and I appreciate it. In fact, I’d say we’ve gotten as close as I dare in the last few decades. And I’ve seen a few things I tried not to. Like the way you look at a certain bard.” Glorfindel made a movement, almost like a flinch, but gave away no other reaction. “And you see,” Erestor continued, “if you don’t do something about it, you’re going to fall deeper into depression until you’re as old and cranky as I am. Yes, yes,” Erestor made a waving motion as if shooing away unpleasant thoughts, “I know what they say of me. And they’ll soon say the same of you if you aren’t careful.”

Erestor stood to come around and place a hand on Glorfindel’s shoulder, perhaps the first time he had ever made such a gesture. “Seek your fortune, my friend, before it is gone forever.”

***

Lindir was alone in the Hall of Fire, unsurprising at this time of day. Usually, the Hall was only ever opened to the crowds at sunset. But the Chief Minstrel of Imladris spent much time here, composing and practicing and spending time alone with his music. He distractedly strummed the small harp in his lap, a composition without melody that lazily drifted up and down the scales.

When the door opened silently, Lindir felt the small draft of air across his face and turned to see Haldir in the doorway. “Haldir, please come in.”   
The Guardian closed the door behind him and approached, his footsteps quiet on the dark wood floor. His smile was friendly, if not quite so light-hearted as it had been the past few days. “I am pleased to find you here, Lindir.” Haldir took off the grey cloak that hung from broad shoulders to lay it before Lindir’s feet and sit upon it as a child awaiting a story. “I wished to speak with you.”

“Okay,” Lindir agreed, concerned about his newfound friend, now looking up at him with deep hazel eyes. “In what regards?”

“In regards to Glorfindel.”

“Oh.” Lindir shuddered, hearing his own voice break on that small utterance. He pretended his tone did not quaver as he said, “What of Lord Glorfindel?”

“Of the way you look at him. Especially when you sing. Of the way he looks at you when you sing.”

Lindir looked surprised at that last bit.

Haldir smiled gently up at him. “How long have you loved him?”

Lindir gulped. “Two-thousand three-hundred twenty-four years, five months, sixteen days. And, um, about five hours.”

“And you never thought about, oh I don’t know, doing something about this?”

Lindir shook his head nervously, pale hair waving. “No, I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Lindir shrugged. “He is a Lord. And a warrior! He’s an advisor to my Lord Elrond and has lived through more than I can imagine.”

“And a Chief Minstrel is so unworthy?”

“Well, yes.”

Haldir laughed suddenly. “Never believe that, Lindir! Love happens. You never know until you ask.”

***

It was nearly twilight. In this rare winter sunset the hues were vibrant reds and purples and oranges flooding the sky with color. “Look at the sky, Glorfindel.”

Blue eyes lifted to the heavens and the golden Lord halted his steps. “Now that is something else,” Glorfindel said fondly.

Haldir also stopped and together the pair of golden Elves watched until the great gold orb laid itself to bed undercover of the mountains. Yellow rays like streams of butter cut across the sky from the west and the silver stars winked into view in the east.

Glorfindel softly sang a greeting to the silver stars, but Haldir remained silent, thoughts turning over in his head as the sunlight gradually dimmed.

When Glorfindel’s beautiful voice died away, Haldir spoke. “I am glad to be here with you, my friend.”

Unexpectedly, Glorfindel launched himself at his companion, embracing Haldir tightly. “Oh Haldir! Me too!”

Haldir laughed, a deep, rich sound in this wintered garden. He hugged Glorfindel in turn and they laughed in the deepening night. “Walk with me,” Haldir asked, taking Glorfindel’s hand and leading him off down the path.

“Yes, and talk with me,” Glorfindel said. “You have something on your mind, I can see it.”   
“Ah,” Haldir hesitantly agreed. “Well, yes, you might say so.”

They slowed their steps and roamed peacefully in the hibernating garden, their hands swaying between them. “So?”

“So,” Haldir teasingly began, “I was wondering.”

“Yes?”

“Well, I know I shouldn’t, and I know it’s not like me, but… I’ve been listening to the Imladris gossip.”

Glorfindel chuckled. “I see,” he said, understanding.

“And I was wondering. Is it true what they say? Of Rivendell’s Chief Counselor?”

Glorfindel glanced furtively about, only half serious as he whispered, “Are you sure it is prudent to speak of such things out here in the open?”

Haldir raised an immaculate eyebrow. “I highly doubt there is one who knows not of what we speak, and there is no one here to hear us besides.” An excellent point, as there was no one else about in the greying, weedy place of statues and arbors suffused with the light from a half-moon.

Nodding, Glorfindel agreed and sighed, “Ah, the ever persistent gossip. I remember many decades ago when Erestor learned just how often he features in the gossip of Imladris. The poor thing. Erestor does not take well to attention of any sort and it took many years of perseverance on my part to find his friendly nature, if you could call it that.”

“You’re avoiding the topic.”

“Ah yes, the rumors,” Glorfindel wondered to himself. He then shook his head as if to release himself from some reverie and spoke more confidently, “Oh, they’re quite true. He would never say anything to me directly of course, and I would never ask him. But between us it does not need to be said. I’m afraid I’m the closest it comes to a confidant or friend for Erestor and words still do not pass easily between us. But we have little need of words. And he does not need to tell me the truth of such rumors. He is quite horrified at the gossip, though if confronted I doubt he would deny it. But he never will be. None care enough about him to truly ask, and Elrond is far too consumed in other affairs to ever notice. As for myself, you see our relationship. And I may be the only one to say with certainty that it is true: our poor Chief Counselor has been in love with Lord Elrond for countless centuries. Since before the Lord married. Since before Imladris was founded. He has led a lonely life, I fear, but seems content enough with it. Though I wish it were not so.”

Haldir nodded thoughtfully, consumed with sorrow for the dark advisor whom he had only known distantly over the years.

The two Elves continued along their way in silence through the darkening night.

Elrond peered around the statue he had been sitting behind, the book in his elegant hands forgotten, grey eyes wide with shock.


	4. Yes, Really

(The next day if you must know.)

 

“…something to do with the grapes. You know Suldan, that’s all he thinks about. It doesn’t matter that winter is not even over, he wants to meet with you. And I told him it would not be possible, that he could meet with me or not at all, but that family is from Mirkwood and they keep their stubborn nature in every last digit and he’s still pestering me. But things have been well these past years with the vineyard, very well, so I don’t understand his perseverance. I tell you _I_ am more concerned about the wheat fields; this debate has been going on I-don’t-even-remember-how-long and it will drive me to drink, you can bet. Elrond? Are you even listening?”

“Hmm? Oh, quite, Erestor. …You were saying?”

Erestor raised a disgruntled brow and leaned forward in his seat. “Perhaps you ought to take a rest, my Lord. Imladris will last, should you take a few hours’ nap, you know.”

“It’s not that. I’ve…”

“You’ve been staring at me like I’ve grown a second head, but haven’t heard a word I’ve said,” Erestor told him. “Honestly, I haven’t seen you like this since… Well,” Erestor nervously broke off. “I think you ought to rest.”

Grey eyes disconcertingly penetrated his. “Yes, perhaps I’d better.”

***

Lindir felt eyes on him as he went about his business, again lending a hand in the kitchens on this cold winter day, perhaps the last truly cold day before spring. “Haldir, you’re following me.” He viciously grabbed up a knife to chop the vegetables laid out on the counter.

“So?”

“Why?” Lindir demanded.

“Because I want you to do something about this. I can’t make you. And I won’t betray your trust, but I still think you are in the wrong if you remain determined to avoid this.”

“Haldir, leave me alone.”

“…As you wish.”

***

The Hall of Fire was much more subdued this cold evening, as Elves lay back in their chairs or even reclined on the floor as the multitude of fires burned high and bright, glinting off the dark woods and gold enamels.

Lindir sang little, instead encouraging others to display their talent, especially those many pupils he had taken on in his years. Lindir himself sat in the shadows beside Erestor, neither of them particularly cheerful, though that was normal for the latter.

Glorfindel and Elrond sat side-by-side, content to listen to the slow songs dominating the evening’s entertainment.

Haldir had joined a table of sentries, all of them rather restrained and lethargic, like everyone else in the Hall that night.

A point came when the music ceased, and the Hall was filled only with the crackling of the fires. But then Haldir’s voice rang out. “Lindir? Give us a song.”

Many heads nodded and many murmurs pervaded the room, and so Lindir stood, long green robes gathered about him as he made his slow way to the bench closest to the largest fire, where he allowed an apprentice to lean the tall harp into his reach.

He sat there a moment in silence, oddly embracing the awkward instrument as he gathered himself with one deep, cleansing breath. Then, limber fingers danced along the strings and his head fell forward, pale hair screening a mournful expression and deep green eyes as bittersweet melody poured forth.

His voice seemed the sweetest sound in all of Arda in that moment, though full of a somber sadness capable only of the Elves.

“I know there isn’t much to see here  
There may be even less to do  
Some people say there is no future here for me  
And maybe that is true  
Some houses by the lonely river  
A narrow path leads to the house  
A mead hall and some bored old seagulls  
I’m calling this my piece of earth

“For reasons that I can’t remember  
I’ve never felt that restless urge  
To go just where the road might take me  
I’m happy on this piece of earth  
I’ve never been afraid of silence  
What scares me more are empty words  
But this is something you can count on  
I’m staying on this piece of earth

“You tell me that I shouldn’t stay here  
You say there’s so much more to see  
The world is full of golden chances  
And somewhere there’s a prince for me  
But can’t you see that all I wish for  
Is you for better and for worse  
And to hear you say how much you love me  
Forever on this piece of earth.”

Lindir pushed the harp into its upright position and stood to leave the hall, robes swishing quietly behind him to a polite patter of applause.

Haldir smiled grimly as Glorfindel suddenly rose to follow.

***

One by one, the Elves left the Hall to seek their rest. Haldir was almost the last to leave and helped some musicians and soldiers bank the fires for the night, dowsing some that would not need be lit again until the following winter.

When he turned to leave, Erestor and Elrond were the only Elves still present within. He closed the doors behind him.

***

Elrond watched the slender form in black robes wander the Hall with a silver snuffer in a pale white hand. Erestor moved with natural grace from candle to candle, deftly putting out each light, the room growing that much darker as he did so.

Elrond himself rose to move to the windows, using a carefully constructed set of ropes and pulleys to close the outer shutters against the light of the moon without opening the windows themselves. He then pulled closed the dark blue curtains, blocking out all evidence of the evening.

Only embers held safe within deep braziers or fireplaces lit the room with a smoldering red glow.

They took one last turn about the room together, easily making their way with Elven sight. Erestor matched his Lord’s strides and Elrond spoke. “Winter is nearly done, I think.”

“Aye,” Erestor agreed. “Imladris will soon be brimming with visitors new and old and our minds will be consumed with the planting and sowing. And Haldir will soon leave us, I imagine, to resume his post in his Golden Woods.”

Elrond nodded. “Yes, I will miss him. Though I cannot wait to see the blooming of the flowers and the new growth of the leaves. It seems winter has been too long and too grey. We need more color in the world.”

“Yes, I will see to the changing of the décor directly. The Spring colors will enchant all of Imladris before you know it,” Erestor thought aloud, gesturing to the drab curtains that would soon be replaced with the warm spring tapestries.

Elrond glanced aside and said nothing. Thoughts turned in his head. Distracted by much and hindered by the dark, he stumbling over the long hem of his crimson robes, reaching out on instinct to grab hold of the one next to him.

Erestor allowed Elrond to cling to him just a moment as the half-Elf regained his balance. “Careful, my Lord,” he whispered, taking Elrond’s hand in one of his own and placing the other on the small of Elrond’s back. “You must be tired; let me escort you to your rooms.”

Elrond was not tired. But he did not say as much.

***

Lindir was walking in the armory. There was little light and no fire, but the torches in their brackets glinted sharply off all the carefully cared for weapons and armor. He passed through and into the stables where he crept past sleeping horses and dozing stable masters to climb up to the straw-filled loft, carefully holding a silver lantern out before him as he lifted the hem of his green robes out of the way. He hung the lantern from a hook on a beam and settled into a little fort-like circle created by bales of hay. He lay back in the tattered old blankets and took a book off the makeshift shelf he’d set up there. He opened the cover and stared at the pages, pretending to read.

Soft footfalls caught his attention and he looked up to see Glorfindel in his red and gold captain’s uniform peeking around the wall of hay bales. The golden haired Lord slunk within the circle of straw to look down with wide blue eyes at Lindir, whose deep green eyes were equally large and frightened. For a moment, neither spoke.

Then, Glorfindel nervously cleared his throat and looked away. “Was that song…” Anxious, he coughed and started again. “Was that just a song? Or were you singing to me?”

Lindir couldn’t stop the words, even as he met Glorfindel’s panicked gaze. “Whenever I sing, it is always to you.” He hung his pale head, eyes growing wider as he disbelieved he had said such a thing.

A swirl of red cloth slithered to the straw-strewn floor. Lindir looked at Glorfindel’s crimson cape, coiled like a ready serpent of blood in the hay. Now panicking himself, he looked suddenly up.

Glorfindel raised a blonde eyebrow and said, “It’s hot up here.”

Lindir could only nod agreement even as their breath misted the frigid air, as he found himself suddenly speechless.

Then Glorfindel took two swift steps forward and fell to his knees. He and Lindir were nose to nose, eye to eye as Glorfindel gathered his strength. “Lindir, something’s happened.”

“Oh?” the bard asked, breathless.

“Yeah,” Glorfindel said with a bit of a shrug, removing the book from Lindir’s death grip and taking those talented hands in his. “Um… You see, there was this Lord. He was a noble Elf Lord, with a lot of power and ambition. He was really a pretty decent guy actually, and led a good life. He really liked to sing and to dance, because he loved music so much. But times were hard, and when a war came, he was determined to fight for his people. There was a terrible battle. People were killed, soldiers and innocents; it didn’t matter. The Elves were… sad, when their golden Lord fell, killed by this awful, awful demon. The Lord fell into an abyss of pain and…” he confessed, “loneliness, especially since wherever it was that he went, there was never any music. He was stuck somewhere between life and death, and when the Maiar found him, they admitted that they had forgotten about him. And they called Mandos. Mandos came and talked to the Lord and because he had suffered so long, Mandos gave him a choice. He could go to the Halls of Waiting if he wanted. Or he could go to Valinor where he might eventually meet up with his friends and family. Or he could go back to Arda, where there were still battles. And music. And the Lord chose his old life, you see, because he thought there was still more he could do there.”

Lindir gripped the hands that held his and pretended not to notice the tears on Glorfindel’s flushed cheeks.

“And he was welcomed back with lots of fussing and hugs and drinks all around and they wanted him to be a lord again. But this Elf thought that he really didn’t want all that responsibility. And so he went away to Lindon, where there was a lot of happiness for a while. That was where he met up with this Elf called Elrond. And Elrond was very special. He was really a half-Elf with a mortal twin brother. Elrond had a few secrets and a few hard times himself. This Elf got along real well with Elrond, and when the half-Elf said he planned to get married and move to Imladris and found a haven where people of all races would be welcome, this old Lord thought that sounded like a pretty good idea and asked if he could go along. Since he was so experienced with war and stuff, Elrond was really excited and asked him to be one of his advisors and the captain of his guard. The Elf agreed at once. And you might not believe it, but there were more battles and wars and Elrond DID get married and even had kids. And they DID find this perfect little valley where they built a huge house with a library and a tavern and everything. Elrond brought a host of people with him, including his best friend Erestor, who was named Chief Counselor. Over the years, there were so many people who wanted to live there, they had to build even more buildings. Oh, and there were gardens and archives and kitchens and just so many wonderful things there. But then there came the most wonderful thing of all.”

Glorfindel stopped a moment and stared, entranced into deep green eyes. Lindir softly prompted him, “What was it?”

“It was a birth. There was a young maid who was very sick with grief and who had come all by herself all the way from Mirkwood so that her child could be born and raised in Imladris. And she gave birth to the baby and she died and was buried and that was all very sad. But the baby boy was healthy, and even though he really didn’t want to, Erestor took the child in and raised it, almost like his own. The child learned a lot of things in Imladris, and he was very lucky, because Erestor was - in secret - a very generous Elf and told him that he could be anything he wanted. Well, what this boy loved most in the world was music, and he wanted to become a minstrel. And, as if you couldn’t guess, he did. He grew up and as he grew, he learned all manner of arts and music and he could play any instrument and sing any song and it was said that he had the most beautiful voice ever gifted to any Elf. Well, the old Lord who had become Elrond’s captain had watched this lad grow up and had listened to him practice everyday and had heard his beautiful voice and they became fast friends because they both loved music very much, even if they didn’t have a lot else in common.”

Glorfindel sighed a shuddering breath and gasped and continued his story in a choked, trembling voice. “And because it was only natural, and the Minstrel was so beautiful and shared his love of music, and shared his life in the good times and the bad ones, and made his day brighter, the old Lord fell in love with the Minstrel. He was very sad, you see, because he didn’t think the Minstrel would ever look at such a stuffy old warrior with anything like love. But maybe, maybe the Lord was wrong. The end?”

Lindir smiled, even as a few stray tears wandered down his own pale cheeks. “You’re a terrible story teller.”

“But do you know how it ends?” Glorfindel begged.

Nervous but energetic, Lindir nodded his head. “Yes.”

“Please tell me!”

Lindir cleared his throat. “Well, that wasn’t the end of the story. In truth, the Minstrel himself had fallen deeply in love with the old Lord, who really wasn’t so very old. The Minstrel loved him a very long time before this crazy Elf from Lorien showed up and told him to do something about it. So, the Minstrel sang a song, and even though the room was filled with people, he sang just for his own golden Lord. What came next was even better. The Minstrel was a little shook up after that and ran away to the stables. Well, the Lord followed him and they finally got down to declaring their love for each other.” Lindir blushed now as he spoke. “And they were so overcome with joy and passion that they made love in the stable loft. They were so worn out, they even slept there. In the morning, they woke up together, and they remained together everyday thereafter until the end of time.”

“I like that story,” Glorfindel whispered, leaning closer.

“Me too,” Lindir eagerly agreed, licking nervous lips.

And the Lord kissed his Minstrel, and the tale turned out just like the Minstrel said it would.

***

Elrond, full of fear and anxiety, half-closed his eyes and allowed his Chief Counselor to steer him down the hall, as had happened a thousand times before. He guiltily feigned a helpless exhaustion and noticed for the first time the protective embrace Erestor almost had on him and the gentle way his strong hands handled him and the easy confidence with which he cared for him.

The soft slippers they wore muffled their steps and the dark pair moved near soundlessly through the empty halls of Imladris, the rest of its residents long having sought bed or bath. The way was slow, but it was not very long before Elrond was leaning against the wall outside his room, watching from behind hooded eyes as Erestor unlocked the white doors and then took Elrond’s hands in his own surprisingly warm ones to lead him past the embers in the hearth and the table by the window and through the bedroom door.

Elrond unaccountably resisted as Erestor led him toward the bed. Mistaking his reluctance for mere fatigue, Erestor soundlessly scooped up his Lord in strong arms and carried him across the green and gold carpet to the bed. Elrond went breathless at the casual strength of his friend and it seemed he flew for those few moments until he found himself sitting comfortably propped against the pillows piled before the white headboard.

Before he could wave them away, pale hands were at his throat, nimbly releasing him from the deep red robes.

Somewhere between shock and apprehension, Elrond let Erestor do what he would.

When his Lord was naked, Erestor retrieved a heavy nightgown for the cold night and slipped it over the dark head. He easily drew limp arms through the sleeves and laid Elrond back on the bed, pulling up the covers. He gently took up the ebony hair, never pulling as he untangled the complicated braids and smoothed out the black mane. He laid his warm hands on the hunched shoulders and feeling the deep tension within them, began to message the ache and stress away with firm hands.

Elrond barely prevented himself from quaking in his hold, and then listened carefully as Erestor began to sing. Never could he recall hearing the mellifluous voice raised in song, but it was both sweet and mellow, and though he could have sworn he’d never heard the odd little song before, it wrapped round him with the familiarity of an old blanket and soothed him better than any draught of wine or warm embrace.

Feeling the shoulders relax and the breathing even, Erestor withdrew, his voice dying away. He pulled the covers up tenderly over all but Elrond’s head and moved to shut the shutters, closing out the moon and to build up the bedroom fire, adding a few sticks to the flames.

As he passed by the bed, he was caught in the blinking of weary, grey eyes. For the first time in the millennia Erestor had done this, Elrond reached out a hand and his deep tenor washed through the room. “Stay.”

Erestor moved inexorably closer as if in a dream until he stood beside the bed, smoothing a warm hand across the half-Elf’s brow. “Sleep, Lord. I will stay until you do.”

“Will you sing?”

Erestor curtly nodded. “If you like.”


	5. Just Rolling Along

Erestor stayed longer than that. He pulled up a chair and sat at his Lord’s bedside, holding Elrond’s hand and singing that old lullaby until the half-Elf finally found rest. And then Erestor sat there, silently adoring the beautiful, wonderful, dark-haired, grey-eyed Lord until the sun rose.

That was when he regretfully stood, easing the stiff joints and muscles to bank up the fire and pull open the curtains and shutters and leave his Lord’s chambers to begin the day.

He wandered the halls aimlessly a bit, distracted at the not unwelcome change in routine from the night before until he finally remembered some of the other events that had passed in the Hall of Fire.

He smiled a small, sneaky smile to himself and passed by both Lindir’s and Glorfindel’s rooms. Both chambers were empty.

“Those two,” he muttered to himself, trekking outside and through the armory into the stables where he greeted the early morning stable hands and the sentries arriving from night watch.

He proceeded down the length of stalls until he came to a familiar ladder. Shaking his head, he hiked up his dark robes and climbed up to his foster son’s ‘secret’ hideout.

Lindir had come here as far back as he could remember, and Erestor only intruded on the most desperate of occasions, usually preferring to leave the smart, young Elf to his own devices as he believed children could work things out on their own quite well.

It had actually been many centuries since he’d journeyed to this familiar place, but something like a father’s intuition guided him and he was unsurprised to peer around the tall piles of hay to find two naked Elves wrapped in a crimson cloak with straw in their hair and pale and gold limbs wound about each other, glowing gold and silver in the shaft of sunlight that streamed in through an open eastward window.

Erestor chased away the tender smile on his face, fitting a serious frown in place as he stepped within and crossed his arms and cleared his throat irritably.

Glorfindel started, and his sky blue eyes blinked a moment until they focused on the enemy.  
 Lindir just grunted and pulled him closer.

Erestor glared.

Glorfindel gently shook the younger Elf and Lindir finally turned toward him, smiling lazily. For but a moment Glorfindel was caught in the beauty of that expression, but then reality rapped him upside the head and he nodded to the parting in the hay bales. Lindir turned and gazed unseeing for a moment with the bright sun in his eyes, but then he recognized the stern form standing over them. “I… We…”

“Don’t speak,” Erestor told them in a guttural snarl. “If you must insist on giving yourself over to your emotions, I suggest you do so in the privacy of your rooms rather than in the barn, like common humans. Glorfindel, if you hurt my son, I shall hunt you down and make you regret it.”

He turned to leave. He faced away as he whispered, “You look beautiful together. I wish you all the happiness in the world, both in this one and the next.”

Lindir sprang up and tackled Erestor with a whole-hearted hug. “I love you, too! You stuffy old grump!”

Erestor pushed him away and brushed off the straw clinging to his velvety robes. “Get dressed Lindir. I expect to see you both at breakfast, and looking far more presentable.” He grumbled all the way down the ladder. Lindir followed, leaning over the railing to shout, “I love you dad! Thank you!”

“LINDIR!” Erestor admonished with a shocked bellow as several Elves within the stables looked up to see the naked minstrel waving enthusiastically at Elrond’s Chief Counselor. “Get dressed NOW!”

Lindir laughed and disappeared back into his little corner where Glorfindel was still sitting in the hay, smiling brilliantly at him. Lindir dropped to his knees and looked him in the eye, an expression of awe on his young face.

“What is it, Lindir?”

“That is the first time he ever called me ‘son.’”

***

Elrond woke to the sound of a closing door. The familiar scent of mallorn blossoms clung to the air. “Erestor?” The Lord threw back the covers and rolled out of bed to run through the room and to his door, silently unlocking it and peering out just a bit to see the dark form passing away down the hall. Elrond quietly closed the door, wondering why Erestor always insisted on locking it. He leaned wearily against the white wood, the plain white nightgown falling to his ankles, his tangled black hair falling before his face. “Is it true what they say?” he asked of himself.

How many times had Erestor done this for him? Kept him safe and warm and fed? How many times had he insisted on tasting foreign food before his Lord, or walking ahead of him in dark foreign cities? How often had Erestor trailed him purposelessly in the corridors and sat silently beside him on the library floor in some vain search for an ancient fairytale? Could he count the number of chess matches in which Erestor watched his opponent as often as the game or the dinners at which Erestor did not eat at all, but only sat at the table content to be beside his Lord? Was there any limit to the counselor’s attentions? Had he not avoided Elrond decades after his wedding and looked wonderingly at his three children? Had he not accepted those children practically as his own, helping to raise and guide and love them? How often had Erestor calmly tended Elrond’s hair or helped him don some ceremonial garment so complex he needed assistance? How many times had Erestor done these things for him?

Could there be any doubt?

“Of course it’s true,” he wondered out loud. “Of course it’s true.”

***

When Glorfindel and Lindir sat down to breakfast, they couldn’t help but notice Haldir’s wolfish grin.

Glorfindel stared suspiciously at his old friend. “What?”

“Oh nothing,” Haldir said innocently. “I’ve been listening to the gossip again, that’s all.”

“And what has the grapevine of Imladris told you, my friend?” Lindir questioned him.

“Well, you’ll never believe what they’re saying happened in the stables last night.”

Glorfindel and Lindir looked askance at each other. Lindir flushed a brilliant pink and Glorfindel attempted to hide his giggles behind his hand. Failing that, he bowed his head and his shaking shoulders betrayed his laughter.

Several sentries - whispering behind their hands - passed by, pointing at the pair and smiling. Lindir swatted Glorfindel.

The captain’s head rose up and his laughs burst out full-force. “I’m sorry, luv! I can’t help it!”

Lindir bowed his head, as if attempting to sink into his seat. The minstrel barely noticed Arwen sit herself beside him until she patted him affectionately on the head. “You are lucky,” she whispered. And when Lindir thought that she was very right, he was able to laugh as well.

“I shall write a song about last night, what do you say, Glorfindel?”

“You shall make a roll in the hay sound like a romantic tryst! Excellent!”

The halls were filled with much laughter and rejoicing that morning.

***

Erestor wandered through the kitchens, his mind and heart too full to concentrate on work. He snagged an apple and made his way to the little table in the rear where the dark shadows kindly masked him from view. For a while he remained in relative peace with the untouched apple beside him until he felt someone approaching.

He was not surprised when Elrond sat across from him, two plates of breakfast in hand. “You won’t have eaten,” the half-Elf told him, placing the food there before him, along with a quickly fetched glass of juice. “You must eat, Erestor.”

Erestor said nothing, calmly taking up a fork and idly poking about the food, nibbling around the edges.

“Erestor.”

He took a bite.

“Erestor, look at me.”

The fork clanged harshly as Erestor let it fall against the plate, jerking his head up to regard his Lord with dull brown eyes.

“I wanted to thank you for staying with me.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

“Erestor. We’ve known each other for millennia. You’ve been my dearest friend for well over four thousand years. Isn’t it time you called me by my name?”

Erestor didn’t seem to know what to make of that.

“Besides. I never wanted to be a Lord. You know that.”

Erestor shrugged.

Elrond laughed and reached across the table.

Erestor froze.

“What is this?” the Lord asked, pulling a length of straw from Erestor’s dark hair.

At this, the counselor finally allowed himself a small smile. “You will never guess where and how attired I found Lindir and Glorfindel this morning.”

“Oh?”

“They slept the night in the stable loft, in nothing but that red cloak Glorfindel seems so proud of.”

Elrond’s jaw dropped. “Those two?! I never…” He looked sharply up at Erestor. “And you are okay with this?”

The dark head nodded. “Love happens,” he said with a helpless shrug.

“Indeed,” Elrond marveled.

***

Meandering down the hall with Erestor a dark shadow behind him, Elrond halted at the sight of Glorfindel and Lindir approaching. “My Captain and my Minstrel!” he sung out, his arms opening wide.

Glorfindel and Lindir laughed as their Lord caught them up in a tight embrace. “An eternity of happiness and my blessing upon you both,” he promised them.

Erestor watched as Elrond teased and congratulated the two lovers until Glorfindel held up a hand. “Please! Cease! Else we shall be standing here all day!”

“But I want to hear all about how you managed to woo our dear bard!”

“Poorly,” Lindir supplied. “But it mattered not, seeing as I loved him anyway.”

They all laughed, but for Glorfindel who feigned a hurt look.

Lindir shook his head and leaned in close to the gold Elf. “Don’t be silly,” he whispered. “Nothing could have been more romantic.”

Glorfindel then shook his head. “No, it really was awful; I’ve no sense of language when it comes to you. All thought leaves my head.”

Erestor rolled his eyes and sighed heavily.

The other three laughed at the counselor until Glorfindel suddenly turned to his Lord with a serious expression. “Elrond, may we marry?”

Elrond turned away, thinking as he stared off into space. “It is rather unconventional,” he mused.

Lindir was staring with open-mouthed shock at Glorfindel. Seeing this, the captain asked, “Unless you don’t want to?”

“You would marry me?” Lindir asked breathlessly.

“Well, yes,” Glorfindel said simply, “else I wouldn’t have asked.”

Ignoring this exchange, Elrond then replied, “I don’t see why not. A wedding it is then!”

“Wait a minute!” Glorfindel begged. He walked straight up to Erestor, who had remained a little apart. “Counselor Erestor. May I have your blessing to marry your son?”

Erestor regarded him coldly, managing to look down upon him, even though he was a full head shorter. Glorfindel idly wondered how he always managed to do that. “You do not ask my permission?”

“No, for I do not need it. But I should like to have your blessing just the same.”

“Then you have it,” Erestor told him.

Glorfindel buried the Elf in a hug and squeezed tightly. “Thank you, my friend.”

“Glorfindel, get off!” Glorfindel stepped back, smiling smugly. Erestor growled, “That’s twice I’ve been assaulted today! No more!” He turned and marched off.

“I love you dad!” Lindir called out after him.

“Yeah! Thanks pops!” Glorfindel added.

Erestor made a rude gesture and continued on.

“Oh dear, this certainly will be something else,” Elrond murmured, shaking his head.

***

The early evening sun found Glorfindel and Lindir slowly walking the gardens, hand in hand. “It is much warmer today!” Lindir stated happily after humming a little song. “Oh and look!” He ran ahead to fall to his knees and push away the dead debris of the past autumn revealing a clump of green shoots pushing their way out of the rich, brown earth. “Buttercups!” he exclaimed. “They’re always first! Oh, spring is truly upon us then!” When Glorfindel said nothing, Lindir turned to look.

The gold Elf had knelt beside him and smiled distantly, but the look in his eyes was mournful.

“What is the matter?”

“As spring arrives, Haldir leaves. I did not realize how much I missed him until he showed up. And I had not thought of his departure, so close we are; it was as if we’d never been parted.”

“He was with you in Gondolin?”

“Yes.”

Lindir asked the question that had been burning in his mind for many weeks. “Does Haldir love you?”

Blue eyes flashed up at him, surprised. Glorfindel shrugged and turned to sit on the cold ground. Lindir mirrored him and they sat there in the brown and grey garden, bright splotches of green and gold from their robes. Glorfindel’s voice was rich and deep and sad. “Aye. He loved me once. But that was long ago, and he had led me to believe the feelings long faded. But perhaps not.” Glorfindel sighed wearily. “I believe it is true that we do not choose who we love, for I would have chosen him. But he was as a brother to me. I am only thankful that he still is.”

Lindir nodded thoughtfully. “You must talk to him before he leaves.”   
“Yes. I suppose I must.”


	6. Blaze to Fruition

“Enter,” Haldir responded to the sudden knock at his door.

Glorfindel slipped into the room. “Good eve, Haldir.”

“Glorfindel. Oh dear, there’s something on your mind, my friend. Come sit,” Haldir invited with a gesture beside him where he sat on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked up beneath him.

Sighing heavily, Glorfindel crossed the room to sit on the bed, perching daintily on the high structure. “I need to ask you something.”

“All right,” Haldir said, curious.

Glorfindel drew what strength he could to look up into unguarded hazel eyes. “Do you still love me?”

“Ah,” Haldir answered quickly, looking away. “Hmm,” he stalled, swinging his free leg back and forth nervously. “Well, yes. I don’t think I could ever fall out of love with you Glorfindel, if it is possible for anyone to do such a thing. But you have known a long time now that I am happy with our friendship. And my feelings have grown more fond than passionate over the years.”

“Then you do not… pine for me?”

Haldir laughed openly at his friend’s phrasing. “Only on the rarest occasions, my friend. Only very rarely, and not for a long time now.”

“That is good,” Glorfindel quickly answered. “Isn’t it?”

“I suppose so,” Haldir shrugged, looking to the ceiling.

“Oh Haldir, you have that look on your face again.”

“What look?”

“The ‘I’m not telling you something important’ look.”

“Oh that one,” Haldir answered worriedly.

“Yes that one. What is it Haldir?”

The Guardian sadly bowed his head and closed his eyes biting at his upper lip as if to still his tongue. “It is none of your concern.”

“It is, because as a friend, you concern me.”

Taking a few deep breaths, Haldir stood. He paced the room a bit, wringing his hands nervously. “I knew I shouldn’t have come here. I just should have stayed home!” He began laughing, a hysterical edge to the shaking voice. “You see, I shouldn’t have let it happen.” He stopped and turned to look at Glorfindel. “I was content in our friendship and had long ago cast aside any hope for you as anything more than a very good friend. I’ve been in Lorien how long now? Right, and it is my home and you were rarely in my thoughts, and then my thoughts turned away completely and now, after all these years, what do you know? …I’ve gone and fallen in love again!” Haldir’s eyes were haunted. He quietly repeated, “I tried not to let it happen.”

“And why not?!”

Hazel eyes met his and Glorfindel’s hopes deflated. Haldir’s voice was stone cold. “Because he is wed.”

“Oh Haldir…”

“I know,” his friend replied with eternal weariness. “I know.” He shrugged and sat upon the bed again, seeming to deflate in a way as he did so. “Love happens.”

***

“Erestor, you never married,” Elrond wisely observed. The half-Elf looked across his desk to see the most puzzled expression he could ever recall witnessing on his Chief Counselor’s face.

Erestor blinked. “Are you feeling all right, Lord?”

“Quite. I was just wondering you know.”

“Should I have?” Erestor asked, perplexed. He did not wait for Elrond to answer. “I have little time for it. There is always so much to do.”

“How can you not have time for love?”

“You said marriage, not love.”

Elrond was caught speechless a moment. “I suppose I assumed they went hand in hand.”

“I thought you never assumed.”

“Huh. Well. Could you hand me that inventory?”

***

It was just about teatime in Imladris, the time of day that Glorfindel sought out his other best friend. Every day, like clockwork.

He knocked, received no response, and entered Erestor’s study, tray in hand. “Crumpets today!” the blonde announced happily. “Lindir made them.”

“And how is your… betrothed?” Erestor asked. He had cooled somewhat from the day previously.

“Very well! We are both very well,” Glorfindel told him, setting down the silver tray on Erestor’s desk.

Erestor grumbled, stood, picked the tray up off his Very Important Papers, and moved to the small fireplace where he set the tray on the floor and sat before the smoldering flames on the fur rug. Clad in simple shirt and trousers, Glorfindel easily joined him on the floor, not having to fight with any robes as Erestor constantly did.

“Sugar?” asked Glorfindel.

“One please,” said Erestor.

Glorfindel stirred in three spoonfuls of sugar. “Milk?”

“No thank you.”

Glorfindel handed him the teacup and they both drank in silence.

This was an ancient ritual.

“I wanted to thank you,” Glorfindel told him, “for your love advice.”

“Mmm,” Erestor responded, attempting to ignore him.

“Can I give you some?”

“Some what?” Erestor asked without thinking.

“Love advice.”

“Certainly not.”

“Erestor,” Glorfindel confided, “I am absolutely torn watching you day after day—”

“Glorfindel,” Erestor interrupted with a growl. “One. More. Word. …And your betrothed shall not have anything to look forward to on the wedding night.”

“Hm,” Glorfindel answered.

***

“Well you have to find out who it is!” Lindir was adamant.

“And then what?” Glorfindel asked.

“Then we can do SOMETHING, instead of suffer simply because we know he is suffering. There’s always a chance.”

“Then you ask the damn Galadhrim,” Glorfindel said. “For he won’t tell me.”

“Fine,” Lindir said quietly to himself. “I think I shall…”

***

“Next?”

“Ah,” Elrond scrutinized the list before him. “‘An Elvish Account of Dwarven Customs and Policy’ by Belindel the Great.”

“You know he gave himself that title,” Erestor muttered as he strode to the spindly ladder, hiking up drab robes to climb nearly to the top of the shelves to lift down a large, heavy book and carefully descend with it cradled in one arm. He placed it on the growing stack in front of Elrond, who looked up at him.

“Erestor, I know there are better things you could be doing with your time. Melpomaen could assist me here as well as you.”

“Ah, but none know the libraries as well as I, even your Chief Librarian.”

Elrond acceded with a nod. “Tis true.” He shook his head and muttered, “Only you would have the placement of every book memorized.”

Erestor ignored him. “Next?”

***

Lindir found Haldir in the stables, brushing down his mount, which looked more than happy in his stall constantly supplied with water and hay and oats. Lindir jumped over the gate and hopped up to sit on the ledge that separated one stall from another. “Good day Haldir!”

“I’m not telling you,” the Guardian answered in stiff monotone.

“What?”

“Glorfindel sent you. And I will not say.”

Lindir accepted this, slipping from his seat to stand on the other side of the proud horse and look up at Haldir. “Will you tell me why not?”

Haldir ceased his ministrations, looking down at nothing. “I will not say it. Because I have never said it. Because saying it will make it real. Please leave me to my own sort of peace, my friend.”

“All right then.” Nodding sadly, Lindir agreed. “All right.”

***

Haldir was surprised to find, upon finally leaving his horse’s stall, Rivendell’s Lord wandering the stables. “Elrond?”

“Ah, good day, Haldir.”

“Everyone keeps saying that, but I hardly think it is. What on earth is the matter?”

“Too many things,” Elrond wearily answered, the heaviness of something dark and dreadful visibly weighing him down.

“Shall I walk with you?”

“If you like. I have received news of note from your Lady.”

Haldir leaned in. “In regards to what?”

“The future.”

Concerned, Haldir joined him and they walked slowly and spoke in whispers down the length of abandoned stalls.

***

Glorfindel finally cornered Elrond in his office. “Elrond! My but you do look in poor spirits.”

Elrond smiled at his Guard Captain. “Ah, well. The pressures have been building steadily what with,” he waved his hand as if to encompass all the world, “everything.”

“Mm,” Glorfindel mused shortly. “What is that?” he asked of the tall stacks of books around the edge of Elrond’s desk, caging him in.

“Research.”

“Of course,” Glorfindel said, sitting in the chair on the other side of the desk. Finding his view blocked by the many books, the golden-haired Elf pushed aside several columns of them so that he could see Elrond there, pondering his plethora of papers. “My Lord, do you love Erestor?”

Elrond looked at his Guard Captain as though he did not understand him.

Glorfindel persisted. “What does Erestor look like?”

“That is an odd question.”

“Humor me.”

Elrond sat back, folding his hands before him a moment in thought. “He is quite tall and stately, with dark chocolate eyes and ebony hair. His features are fine and his skin quite fair. His hands are very slender.”

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Nothing. How does Erestor spend his free time, if he ever has any?”

“When I force him away from work, he writes little poems and fictions of his own. He composes ballads, if I force a lute into his quite capable hands. He loves to ride, though you hardly ever see him at it.”

“Huh. And what does he smell like?”

“Mallorn blossoms. Glorfindel, why are you asking me these things?”

“Because, my Lord, anyone else would describe your Chief Counselor as being short and hawkish - for he is - his eyes like mud, his hair like dirt, his features mousy, and his skin as being pallid. No one, not even I, could tell you what he does in his spare time, no one else is ever close enough to so perfectly recall his scent, and I doubt anyone has ever bothered to look at his hands.”

“Oh.”

“Elrond?”

“I love him,” the old Lord realized.

“For how long?”

Elrond looked shocked. “I don’t know.”


	7. Goodbye Goodbye

“I’ve done it!” Glorfindel crowed after knocking and entering Haldir’s rooms.

The Guardian’s room had been cleaned and his few effects cleared away. The bed was made and the closet emptied of the smattering of clothes.

Glorfindel turned wide blue eyes to his friend. “What is this?”

Haldir looked up from his saddlebags. “I must return. I’ve outstayed my welcome in Imladris. They will have need of me in the Golden Wood, just as they will have need of you here.”

“You are not known for speaking in riddles, Haldir.”

Haldir turned back to stowing things away in the leather satchels. “Elrond has been contacted by my Lady. The time soon comes, but for what I do not know. She had a message for me, though.”   
“Oh?”

“Aye. I must make a decision.”

“In regards to what?”

“I know not; I know only that one way lies duty.”

“Well, we all know which you will choose,” Glorfindel said with a fond smile, fists on his hips.

Haldir turned to him, hazel eyes clear and open. “Yes. But with duty comes death.”

“What?” Glorfindel strode forward, grabbing his friend’s shoulders and turning him so that they faced one another. “Then Haldir, you cannot do this, whatever it is!”

“I must.”

Glorfindel bowed his head, resting his forehead on Haldir’s grey-clad breast, over his heart.

Haldir stared into the distance over Glorfindel’s shoulder. They stood in resounding silence until Haldir brought a hesitant hand up to his comrade’s bicep. “I have already made my choice. It was made long ago, when I pledged myself to my Lord and Lady, to you before them, to Ecthelion before you, and to our people above all.”

Glorfindel looked up, astonished to find those familiar eyes no longer their greenish brown, but a pale, pale grey. Even as tears adorned his face, Glorfindel placed his lips against Haldir’s. “I wish it were not so.”

“But it is,” Haldir told him. “It is done.”

***

Erestor knocked and when Elrond muttered admittance, he slunk into the cluttered office. He looked around the place, shaking his dark head. “I shall have to organize your things again, my Lord. You are far too disordered.”

When Elrond’s usual reply of ‘I’m not messy, I’m creative’ was not forthcoming, Erestor looked up to see his Lord staring at him with panicked grey eyes.

“Lord Elrond, are you quite well?”

“Oh. Yes. Quite.” He blinked. “What?”

Erestor lifted a fine eyebrow and placed a small pile of books he had brought from the library. “These are all you asked for. I do not see why you insist on keeping your office here, when you could be that much closer to the library in the north wing.”

“I like the sun,” Elrond replied thoughtlessly with a glance to the southern wall, which was a series of arched windows.

Erestor sat down in the seat Glorfindel had vacated an hour earlier. He meticulously restacked all the books within reach and ordered the various papers and pens littering his half of the desk.

This was at least a monthly occurrence and Erestor slowed his hands until he stopped his movements altogether, looking up at Elrond from beneath dark eyebrows, a near empty inkwell in long fingers hovering in the air. The half-Elven Lord was watching him with rapt attention. “Elrond? Sire? Have you eaten anything today?”

“Of course.”

“Mm,” Erestor responded, disbelieving. He placed the inkwell in line with several others and began to stand. “Maybe I’ll just run to the kitchens and see what I can find for you.”

“No!”

“My Lord?”

Elrond was still regarding him with curiously wide eyes. “No. Why don’t we have dinner together later?”

“All right,” Erestor responded, settling back into the chair he had half-risen from.

“In my rooms,” Elrond clarified. His voice shook. “Privately.”

Erestor looked at him.   
***

Haldir met Calanna in the courtyard he had arrived in, wearing his black and grey uniform. She led his stallion to him and they said respectful farewells before she returned to her duties and Haldir carefully inspected the mount, whispering to him quietly.

He waited only moments before the doors opened and Glorfindel and Lindir rushed out to meet him. Lindir embraced him and smiled and stepped back in a quick farewell.

Glorfindel approached more slowly, concealing something behind his back. “I have something for you, my friend,” he greeted Haldir soberly.

Haldir sighed. “And what are you burdening me with now? I do have some ride ahead of me yet.” He smiled dismally.

“Just this,” and Glorfindel withdrew his fabulous red cloak, carefully sewn with delicate gold stitching. He let it unfold to sway in the gentle breeze, “a brilliant standard for a brilliant Guardian.”

Haldir stood in shock as Glorfindel wrapped the thing around him, deftly pinning it in place at his right shoulder. “There,” said the old Lord. “A garment fit for a Captain.”

“Captain?” Haldir marveled, gingerly taking the hem of the crimson cloak in his fingers.

“Aye,” Glorfindel attested. “A Captain you shall be, I know it.”

They regarded each other a moment in silence. Glorfindel then grabbed him up in a hug, whispering into a pointed ear words only Haldir could hear. “Thank you, my friend,” he said. “Thank you, my brother.” He pulled back to look into Haldir’s cool grey eyes. “Farewell.”

Haldir nodded and stepped back, pulling out of Glorfindel’s hold. He jumped upon the horse’s back and pulled the stallion about, the great cape flaring out majestically behind him. “Farewell, Lindir. Glorfindel.”

He wheeled the giant horse toward the gate and galloped away into the greening forest without a backward glance.

***

Erestor found himself speechless, staring at his Lord. The emotions whirled through him like some sort of ever tumbling avalanche, and he realized too late that every single one of them was probably quite evident in his wide, dark gaze.

When the Chief Counselor attempted speech, the sounds came tripping out unintelligibly. He cleared his throat weakly and tried again. “I would like that. Very much.”

“Good,” Elrond answered, launching himself across the desk, oblivious of flying books and overturned ink pots to grasp Erestor and pull him into a deep profession of love that resembled something like a kiss. He pulled back to stare deeply into chocolate brown eyes. “Good.”

= = = = =

The End


End file.
